


Nightshade

by ozomin



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Character Study, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, M/M, age gap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:49:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25583149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozomin/pseuds/ozomin
Summary: Yut Lung has spent most of his young life after the death of his mother, in the green houses. Among their shaded leaves that protect him, and the flower beds that nurture him, tendrils shielding him from the beating rays of sun.
Relationships: Blanca/Lee Yut-Lung
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	Nightshade

**Author's Note:**

> I guess I just ship blanca with everyone tbh  
> enjoy~

Yut Lung has spent most of his young life after the death of his mother, in the green houses. Among their shaded leaves that protect him, and the flower beds that nurture him, tendrils shielding him from the beating rays of sun. Yut Lung's friends were the birds of paradise and the morning glories whose petals dripped poison for him to wade through and fumes to breath as a second breath. 

He stayed there among the fronds and spoke to them like old friends. Like knowing friends that accepted his every secret, his every pain, his every pleasure, his every guilt. 

Among the plants, Yut Lung feels at home, alone with the four natures. Even if he was forced there in the first place. Any place that wasn't around his brothers was infinitely better. He'd learn them studiously, ingrained was the enthusiasm after learning how solid his brother's grips could be, how biting their words could be. 

As if he didn't know before. 

It taught him that for now, going along with it all, even it meant a sacrifice of his own body, his own will, at least it would ensure his own survival until he could become the knife slitting their throats in the dark before they even realized it was him. 

So Yut Lung stays in the green houses, until his hair grows long and silky and his brother's hands cannot reach him if he runs fast enough. Strands slipping from their fingers like sand. Yut Lung stays away if it means their hands aren't on him, if it means they cannot control him while his sharp teeth grow in, ready to be bared. 

He presents sharpened teeth as they pulled each one from his own mother's mouth with their rusted pliers and ragged knives. Red and bitter like the peony. Rigid like the root, taken from the soil below with greedy hands. 

He promises to rip their throats out in her stead.

Because she couldn't. 

Yut Lung learns arsenic and lead, the way it mingles and builds up in ephedra, the toxicity laced monkshood, Yut Lung learns it until the poison runs thick in his own veins like his own blood. 

Until the tip of his tongue is so consistently numb that his voice dies before it can leave his mouth. Until the numb feeling suffuses his body and he becomes the doll his brothers always wanted. 

The doll they made of his mother. 

Yut Lung mirrors her, they say he reminds them of her. 

Does he give off the same fear? Does he give off the same desperation? Does he bend to them the same way no matter what he wishes? When they pull him to them by the hair, is he a mere plaything? Does he smell like jasmine and white roses stained copper with blood?

Yut Lung knows it's what they see. 

To them, his mother is not dead, merely walking among them in a different, but just as pliable body, just as controllable. 

Yut Lung doesn't know if the thought is comforting or if it strikes more fear that he must tamper down to survive until his time has come. 

He tampers it down the same way he grinds silky white mallow into paste with a mortar and pestle, crushes it beneath the weight of the stone, presses it further and further into his own body, his brothers the pestle, unyielding, inconsiderate, rigid, angry. Until it's his heart that misbeats, loses what little tempo he'd held onto despite everything. 

Yut Lung has no friends. 

He has brothers. 

He watches each one of his own design succumb to the poison that runs through him. 

He has no family. 

No mother. 

No father. 

He has body guards. Lackeys. 

He has a contract killer. 

Blanca steps up to the door in crisp white pressed pants and a fedora that matches the color of the walls. 

Yut Lung looks at him the way he would any of the plants in the green house. Measuring their intent to kill, their potential do what he wills. What they told him they can do. 

And Blanca tells him that with one look and Yut Lung feels the numbness on the tip of his tongue. 

Blanca doesn't take and take. 

Yut Lung is boneless, without his brother's holding him up, holding him down, his strings cut with the knife that sinks into Blanca's arm, he is lost but in more control than he's ever been. 

It's an uncomfortable position. 

Blanca reminds Yut Lung of the five tastes. They no longer represent the positions of his brothers. 

Acrid like the blood Blanca spills with no second thought, he thins Yut Lung's of the poison, rids him of the hatred that burns hot and on the surface, buries it somewhere in his veins where the poison should be. 

Sweet like his hands, callouses gentle on Yut Lung's face, brushing the hair back, the sweetness on his tongue of sugar, living the childhood Yut Lung never received. Blanca's voice low and deadly soft, Yut Lung feels it rattling in his gut. 

Bitter like raw petals, lotus crumpling, ground between his teeth, sharp, melting away in the saliva, Blanca never compromises, no matter what Yut Lung asks of him. If it is not in his best interest, Blanca refuses to comply. 

Even if what Yut Lung wants is him. 

Sour, like when Yut Lung asks him to lie with him, he's already stretched out among the sheets, back curved, skin untouched, warm, inviting, and Blanca pulls his shoes on and leaves the room. Leaves him alone. Yut Lung curses him and wonders why is he no longer tempting. 

Does Blanca see the stains his brothers have left? The bruises on his skin, that never seem to fade. Does Blanca see his mother just like they did? Is he the same heap of skin and blood and cunt and nothing more? 

Salty, Yut Lung half begs for something, because Blanca never asks for anything. Because Blanca never just takes. 

He's never been used to giving nothing. 

Blanca's hands are strong around his middle, his head heavy on the pillow beside him. His tone is blunt, emotionless when he tells Yut Lung he doesn't completely realize how entitled he acts. 

Yut Lung breathes how could he be entitled when he's never had anything good in his life since he was a child? 

Blanca laughs, huffs a breath and says he still is one. 

That only makes the poison in his veins rush back to the surface. 

"Why won't you love me?" Yut Lung says so quietly he hopes Blanca doesn't catch it. 

Blanca takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling a few times, gentle enough to lull him, gentle enough to falsely secure him.

Yut Lung wants to be the bright eyed doll in the green house, the dead eyed doll on the floor surrounded by his brothers, he could be that if it means he gets Blanca. 

He simply says, "This isn't really what you want."


End file.
